Due to the disturbances of the previous day, the dining car stood nearly empty.
The other passengers—still shaken by what had transpired—had locked themselves in their compartments, preferring the safety of bolted doors to the open vulnerability of shared spaces. Angie, the harried steward, had been reduced to delivering meals directly to their rooms, knocking softly and sliding trays through barely-cracked doorways.
Roy, unsurprisingly, sat across from Juliet at one of the linen-draped tables, working through his breakfast with the single-minded focus of a man who had not eaten properly in days.
Which, Juliet suspected, he probably hadn't.
"Eat this too."
She slid the plate of lamb stew closer to him, watching as he attacked it with relish. The rich gravy disappeared with alarming speed. The bread followed. Then a second helping of potatoes.
*He eats like he's afraid someone will take it away.*
The observation surfaced unbidden, carrying with it a faint pang of something she refused to examine too closely.
In the absence of other passengers, they had the entire dining car to themselves—a strange pocket of intimacy amid the chaos of the past twenty-four hours. Sunlight slanted through the windows, catching motes of dust that drifted lazily through the warm air. The rhythmic clatter of wheels against tracks provided a constant, soothing backdrop.
Juliet sipped her tea and waited.
"What happened to those people?"
Roy looked up from his plate, a smear of gravy at the corner of his mouth. "Those people?"
"The ones who kidnapped you."
"Ah." He paused, considering the question with the same mild interest one might give to a passing cloud. "Hm... I don't know."
Then he grinned—that broad, guileless smile that transformed his sharp features into something almost boyish.
"Kitan and the others grabbed them and tied them up. What they did with them after that..." He shrugged. "I didn't ask."
*Well, while the train is moving, they have nowhere to run.*
Juliet wasn't particularly invested in the fate of the bandits, but curiosity tugged at her nonetheless. Why had they targeted Roy specifically? What value did a young man—however striking his appearance—hold for a band of criminals?
She filed the question away for later consideration.
"And the rest of them? Your... companions?"
Roy's brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his features. "The rest?"
Rather than elaborate, Juliet tilted her head and waited.
Understanding dawned. Roy's expression shifted—embarrassment bleeding through the edges of his composure like ink through paper.
"Kitan is... angry with me."
"Why?"
"Because I told him I'm not going back."
It was a condensed explanation, stripped of context and detail, but Juliet grasped the shape of it immediately.
*So that's how it is.*
Among the men who had arrived for Roy yesterday, the one called Kitan was unmistakable—built like a brown bear, with shoulders broad enough to block doorways and hands that could crush stone. Every time he looked at Juliet, his expression had darkened, his gaze sliding past her as though she were beneath acknowledgment.
She had felt the weight of his disapproval like a physical pressure against her skin.
*A runaway, then.*
Juliet studied Roy with fresh eyes, reassessing. The fine bones of his face. The unconscious grace of his movements. The way he held himself—even disheveled and travel-worn—with the particular confidence of someone who had never questioned his place in the world.
*He belongs to the aristocracy. Or something close to it.*
She recalled the frantic search the previous day—Kitan and his men combing the train, their voices sharp with worry as they called out: *Mr. Roy! Mr. Roy!*
Not the behavior of servants seeking a master. The behavior of protectors seeking a charge.
"Why don't you want to go back?"
The question emerged before she could stop it.
Roy's golden eyes met hers. Something shifted in their depths—a flicker of darkness, there and gone.
"I broke my second brother's neck."
Juliet's teacup paused halfway to her lips.
"...You have a brother?"
She managed to keep her voice steady, though the effort cost her. *He says it so casually. As though he's discussing the weather.*
"Three," Roy confirmed. He was watching her closely now—studying her reaction with an intensity that made her want to look away. "I'm the youngest."
*The youngest of four brothers. In a family wealthy enough to send an entire retinue after him when he runs.*
Juliet set her teacup down carefully, buying time to compose her thoughts.
"Don't you think it's time to go home?" she asked, keeping her tone gentle. "Your parents must be worried."
*Perhaps they were harsh with him. Perhaps that's why he ran.*
She offered the words with genuine kindness, though she knew it was none of her business. She had no right to advise anyone on family matters—not when her own history was a wreckage of broken bonds and bitter silence.
"Juliet."
The way he said her name made her breath catch.
"Yes?"
"Do you want me to go back?"
The question landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. Ripples spread outward, disturbing the calm surface of their careful conversation.
*Why are you asking* ***me*** *this?*
Juliet found herself at a loss.
She had never been good with people—had never possessed the easy warmth that drew others close or the social instincts that made connection feel natural. Looking at this sweet-faced young man with his earnest golden eyes, she genuinely didn't know what to say.
*But he's still so young...*
And he had found her hairpin. And he had waited outside her door all night to return it. And despite everything—the strangeness, the danger she sensed beneath his gentle surface—he had shown her nothing but kindness.
*So why not tell him what he wants to hear?*
"Why did you quarrel with your brother?"
Roy's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "There's something I want. And he laughed at me for not having it."
"If there's something you want..." Juliet paused, choosing her words with care. "Then you simply have to obtain it. Isn't that right?"
"...Do you really think so?"
"I do." She offered him a small, encouraging smile. "So go home, Roy. Make peace with your brothers. Get what you want."
*What other advice can one give to a young runaway?*
Roy, who had been watching her with that unnerving intensity, suddenly smiled.
It was not the boyish grin from before. This smile was something else entirely—slow, warm, and filled with a quiet certainty that made the hair on the back of Juliet's neck prickle.
"Yes," he said softly. "I will do exactly that."
Juliet did not know then what consequences her careless words would bring.
— Roadell Station —
The train's final destination was Aquitaine—the largest city in the East, gateway to the continent's most prosperous trade routes. When people spoke of the *Eastern Gate*, they meant Aquitaine: its towering spires, its bustling markets, its ancient walls that had stood for a thousand years.
Juliet's original plan had been to travel there directly.
But many passengers who had endured the chaos aboard the train wanted nothing more than to escape it. When the locomotive pulled into Roadell—a modest station two hours short of Aquitaine—they began disembarking in droves.
The wounded went first, assisted by harried station staff who prioritized stretchers and bandages over luggage. Other passengers grumbled their displeasure, crowding the platform in anxious clusters, their complaints rising like steam into the cold morning air.
Juliet slipped through the chaos with practiced ease, her single light suitcase clutched in one hand.
*No luggage to retrieve. No companions to wait for. No reason to linger.*
She walked briskly through the station's arched entrance, past the ticket counters and the newspaper vendors, out into the pale winter sunlight of Roadell's main square.
Then, without quite meaning to, she stopped.
She turned and looked back.
The train was already moving—pulling away from the platform with a long, mournful whistle, its iron bulk receding into the distance. Juliet shaded her eyes against the sun, watching the last carriage disappear around a bend in the tracks.
*I feel... strange.*
The sensation was unfamiliar. A faint hollowness behind her ribs, like an echo in an empty room.
*Is it because I left without saying goodbye?*
She considered this. *But was our relationship close enough to warrant a farewell? We spent barely a day together. Less than that, really.*
And yet.
Those golden eyes. Warm and kind on the surface, like a loyal hound's. But beneath that gentleness, she had sensed something else—something watchful and waiting, coiled with the patient stillness of a predator.
*He could shift from pet to beast in an instant. I'm sure of it.*
Instinct could not be ignored.
"Perhaps he's from the Lycan bloodline," she murmured aloud.
The great forest clans. The werewolf nobility. Beings who walked between two forms, neither fully human nor fully beast.
She had suspected it from the moment she saw him in the cage—that massive silver wolf with eyes like molten gold. The same eyes that had gazed at her over breakfast, soft with affection, sharp with something she couldn't name.
*He acted like a gentle puppy around me. Tail wagging, eager to please.*
But he was also a man. A large, powerfully built man with hands that could crush bone and a smile that revealed too many teeth.
*I cannot take him lightly.*
Juliet frowned.
But the most alarming thing—the thing that had settled into her awareness like a splinter beneath the skin—was the way her magic had faltered in his presence.
<That man. I feel bad.>
The butterflies' words drifted through her mind, fractured but unmistakable. Even in their agitation, they had been exceptionally clear in their hostility.
*For once, I agree with you.*
When Roy had been in wolf form, her magic had functioned normally. The butterflies had manifested, obeyed, dissolved—all according to her will.
But the moment he became human, everything had changed. The summoning she'd attempted during their first encounter had shattered before completion, the backlash nearly knocking her unconscious.
*Why? What is it about his human form that disrupts my power?*
She didn't have an answer. And that uncertainty—that dangerous unknown—was reason enough to keep her distance.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, to no one in particular. "But this is for the best."
She turned away from the empty tracks.
*He's not a child. He'll find his way home. And he has Kitan and the others to look after him now.*
With a small shrug, Juliet adjusted her grip on her suitcase and began walking.
— Aboard the Departing Train —
*Knock-knock.*
Roy's knuckles rapped against the compartment door. When no sound came from within, he eased it open and peered inside.
Empty.
The bed was neatly made. The curtains hung motionless. The small traveling case that had sat beside the nightstand was gone.
Only the window remained slightly ajar, admitting a thin stream of cold air that carried the scent of engine smoke and winter frost.
It looked as though no one had ever used the room at all.
"Mr. Roy."
Kitan's voice came from behind him—deep, carefully neutral.
"We need to go."
Roy did not turn around. He stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his gaze fixed on the empty bed where she had slept.
*She left without saying goodbye.*
The thought should not have stung. They had known each other for less than a day. She owed him nothing—not an explanation, not a farewell, not even a backward glance.
And yet.
Kitan shifted his weight, impatience bleeding through his careful composure. Roy did not blame him.
It was already remarkable that Kitan had maintained his calm this long.
The faithful guardian was of the great forest clan—a pure-blooded Lycan whose senses operated on a scale humans could barely comprehend. For someone whose nose could detect a single drop of blood from a mile away, the *stench* of humanity was a constant assault.
That was the word the clan used. *Stench.*
Everything humans touched carried their scent. Their clothes, their belongings, their dwellings—all saturated with an odor that triggered instinctive revulsion in those born to the forest.
*Humans are a vile and foolish species,* Roy had been taught since childhood. *They deserve no pity. They merit no mercy.*
And until yesterday, he had believed it absolutely.
He had looked upon humans with the same cold disdain his brothers showed. Had dismissed them as inferior creatures—useful only as prey, unworthy of consideration or compassion.
But then he had met *her*.
She was human. Unmistakably, undeniably human.
And yet her scent...
Roy closed his eyes, breathing deep.
*Soft. Sweet. Like wildflowers after rain.*
Not the usual human stench that coated his tongue with bitterness. Something else entirely—something that made his blood sing and his instincts sharpen into painful focus.
The desire to sink his teeth into her pale throat had been almost overwhelming.
*I know what this means.*
Every member of the great clan knew. It was the foundation of their culture, the axis around which their entire society turned.
Roy looked down at his bandaged hand—at the careful wrapping she had wound around his wound, the neat knot she had tied with such concentration.
He closed his fingers slowly, feeling the fabric pull against his skin.
*Imprinting.*
The clan had given him half a dozen awakening tonics over the years, trying to force his blood to bloom. He was the youngest of his father's sons, and the strongest—but he was also the only one who had never experienced the call.
His brothers had found their mates. His father had chosen his mother through the bond. Even the lowliest members of the clan could sense when their destined partner drew near.
But not Roy.
*They called me defective,* he thought. *Broken. A wolf who would never know the pull.*
He had accepted their judgment. Had decided, privately, that imprinting was foolishness—a weakness that made strong wolves into lovesick fools.
*Until now.*
"So this is what it feels like."
The words emerged soft, almost wondering.
Kitan stiffened behind him. "Mr. Roy—"
"I understand now." Roy turned from the empty compartment, and the smile that curved his lips held nothing of the gentle puppy Juliet had seen. This smile was slow, certain, and edged with something that made Kitan's instincts scream a warning.
"She told me to go home and get what I want."
His golden eyes gleamed in the dim corridor light—bright and hungry and utterly, terrifyingly focused.
"So I will."